Translated by: Saed Bannoura, IMEMC

We get overwhelmed when we see our new born babies. As time passes by, they start their first steps while we measure with both eyes there height which increases day by day as they grow older to be youths then men or women.

All of a sudden, the forced destiny strikes us hard, and steels our joy and happiness, the feelings scatter, and gets replaced with sadness and hopelessness when we realize that the one we love is gone and will never return… those we love are not coming back, not returning again because we bid them farewell.

Lots of women, mothers stand on their balconies and doors waiting the return of their beloved, they keep waiting…never believing that the beloved ones are gone… and never coming back, the number of waiting mothers increases each year, but they are not coming back because of a hateful fire of an invading army.

An’aam Hossein, is one of those women, she never locked her door, because she thought that Hassouna (as she calls him), her 17 years old son is coming back, but this time he is in a deep sleep, since he was killed in April, 16, 2004.

Behind the desk, in Beitunya primary school for girls, the mother of Hussein (Hassouna), talks about the death of her son;

“Hussein left home with his cousin on April 16, 2004, before he left the house, he leaned towards me, with his wet hair and joked as he always did, “mother…you are the most beautiful mom in this universe”

“He walked to the door, and said his “goodbyes” to the people, and left, he wanted to go to the mosque with his friend, I wondered, this was the first time he over goes to the mosque without having me telling him to”, she added.

The mother, with her painful memories continued, “I was wondering, always, why do the people walk fast in the burials of the (the Martyrs), maybe it’s because the martyrs themselves are in a hurry”

“My son, in the last days of his life, was always in a rush, eats fast, walks fats, doesn’t sleep much, even his sister, whom he is so close to and her new born baby girl, couldn’t motivate him to stay and accompany her to the hospital to see her baby, who was receiving treatment”

“After the prayers, he walked in a procession, heading towards a military checkpoint, in a protest against the Separation Wall, but the army couldn’t stand still and let the people protest peacefully, clashes erupted while army fired at the people, his friends told him, its enough for today lets go home, but he said…I will throw my last stone at the soldiers… but he never managed to do so, a “Dumdum” bullet, which is internationally prohibited, penetrated his head and ended his life even before he managed to end his sentence”

Behind swollen eyes, but strong, mixed with a small smile mixed with pain, the mother added, “I gave birth to Hassouna after giving birth to three girls, in our village “Bodrus”, they prefer boys over girls, I heard and ignored lots of words, and when I gave birth to him, we were so happy, after him I gave birth to two other boys”.

Tears flooding, tired swollen and exhausted eyes, the mother exploded as if she was unloading a heavy burden and screamed, “I miss you…I want to see you…Hassouna”, there was silence for some minutes, she had all of her sons clothes and belongings in one closed, even his blood soaked shirt she kept it there, his brother wrote on the shirt “Hassouna”, “every time I come here, I hold his clothes, smell them and kiss them”, she added.

Only two weeks before his death, he came to his mother with a ring in his hand, and she told him while joking, “you got engaged?!, who is the bride”? He smiled and said, “In some days you will know”, and hugged her.

The mother, after a while of silence, said “sometimes when you look at the pictures of those who left, that the pictures actually talk to you, but we can’t hear them, which makes it harder”.

Her son left, he is never coming back, she stands for long periods looking at his pictures filling the home, and kisses the pictures of her boy, who left and is never coming back.

How many mothers, widows, sisters stand in front of their beloved ones, who left because of some hateful bullets, how many are they…who kissed their beloved with eyes soaked with tears, hearts filled with sadness, how many kisses to a body who is never returning and a soul that keeps flying around us,

“Hassouna is not the only one who left and never came back, not the only youth who was killed by bullets of hatred and oppression”

Hassouna stayed lilke a shadow on the door, but never came back.

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